Ibn Sharjar: The Nine Stones of the Oasis of the Nine Stones
Posted on 07 Mar 2023 @ 4:04am by Atif ibn Sharjar - Merchant of the Al Ashar
Edited on on 15 Jun 2023 @ 6:12pm
Mission:
Ongoing Mission - Planet Obsidian
Location: The Oasis of the Nine Stones
Timeline: M3 D09 0930hrs
2135 words - 4.3 OF Standard Post Measure
Ibn Sharjar peered thoughtfully at the outer door seal lining the main hatchway to the Al Ashar. “A Little more I think” he said to himself and squeezed the tube of sealant he was holding up to the torn seal.
The attack by the Fraj-Senni warriors had left the hatch door skin marked, dented and gouged and they had managed to stick a spear or knife point into the seal, leaving a small tear.
He had checked over the door skin, it was structurally sound, although he would have the dents repaired. Likewise, the seal was acceptable for atmospheric and orbital use, but he would not want to risk it on an extended spaceflight. He had settled on a temporary repair until he returned to Kalara Spaceport where he could hopefully have it replaced.
He ran his thumb over the bead of tacky sealing compound, working it into the tear, then added a bit more from the tube and worked that in until he was satisfied the tear was filled. Wiping the residue off his thumb with a rag, he closed the tube and clambered down from the hatchway. He tossed the tube back into his toolbox and carried the box back to the starboard landing skid.
He had noticed a thin smear of hydraulic fluid was weeping past the piston gromet. He’d had this issue before; it was usually caused by a bit of grit getting forced between the landing skid piston strut and the gromet. The takeoff thrusters blew all sorts of debris around and occasionally grit was pushed past the gromet.
Obsidian was hard on people and just as hard on equipment. Even if the Al Ashar was purposefully allowed to look a lot more worn than she actually was, Ibn Sharjar was particular about ensuing she was space worthy and sound mechanically.
He hunched down, wiped the dribble of fluid away with the rag and leaned in to inspect the polished surface of the landing strut piston, rubbing a fingernail over it. He could not see or feel any damage to the surface, whatever bit of glass or grit was causing the minor leak it had not been there long enough to score a groove in the piston.
He selected the tools he would need for the job and then sat on his toolbox, legs either side of the strut and began to disassemble the housing, placing each part neatly in order on top of the landing skid, out of the dust and dirt.
He was in the shade of the wing tip overhead, but it was a hot morning and he was soon drenched in sweat as he ratcheted out the sixteen long bolts holding the hydraulic manifold to the strut. The last one was stiff and the power ratchet whined in protest as it cranked the bolt undone. Cautious of stripping the head of the bolt he thumbed the power off, tightened up the torque setting and cranked it out manually, stopping every so often to waft away a buzzing cloud of small sand flies.
The job took him all morning to complete, the foreign object turned out to be a shard of black glass, about half the size of a pea and sharp as a razor. He had cursed when he went to pull it out and slashed up his finger and thumb. He had wiped the blood off absently on the same bit of grubby rag he’d cleared the sealant and hydraulic fluid away with, then cursed again when some got in the cuts.
With the repair completed, he strolled around under his ship, inspecting for any other damage. When he reached the bow, he caught sight of the elongated brown smudgy stain on his windscreen. It had been left by the Fraj-Senni leader, who had beat his bloody hand against the screen as Ibn Sharjar took off.
Despite the heat Atif shivered a little, the raw hatred in that man’s eyes had been unnerving and he felt the same disquiet anew. He had meant to clean it off earlier, but that first night here he had been invited to dinner by Gebran, followed by a large quantity of local spirits. Then the next morning he had been introduced to Eralsu riding, and he had simply forgotten about it.
He reached up and began rubbing the bloody stain away with the rag. It had dried to a crusty brown mark and he had to scrub hard to remove it all.
That tribesman’s hatred had been more important to him than his own safety, he had remained beating on the screen glaring in at Ibn Sharjar, heedless of the blast of the thrusters and the forward movement of the ship, which could have easily crushed him.
Atif pressed harder, determined to remove all physical trace of that man from his ship. The pressure opened up the small cuts on his fingers and fresh blood dripped to the sand by his feet. The noisy flies fell quiet as they dropped down to the sand and squabbled with the sand mites over the feast.
Satisfied the screen was clean at last, he wiped off his fingers and squeezed them together to stop the flow. Glancing down, he saw the insects crawling over the dark droplets and kicked the sand in disgust, scattering the flies back into buzzing flight.
He stomped back to the open cargo hatch, tossed in his toolbox, and slammed it shut. He boarded the ship, threw the rag in the disposal and cleaned the grease and blood off his hands. He was in an uncharacteristically sour mood, the death of the young warrior and aggression of the Fraj-Senni was unlike any other suspicion or hostility he had encountered on Obsidian, something about that tribe just made him uncomfortable.
He decided it was better to be out and about, than to stay and brood on the matter. He grabbed his shemag, draped it over his shoulder and went back outside. He walked from where the Al Ashar was landed down towards the glittering pool of open water at the heart of the oasis.
The lake was perhaps an acre in size, filling a roughly oval shaped depression in the rocky floor. Judging by the slop of the land Atif figured it was perhaps three or four meters deep in the middle. Much of it was surrounded by vegetation, bushes and several ancient trees and palms, much greener than those further from the water. Parts of the banks had been demarked with cut stones to form an edge, across from him was a small channel, cut in the rock, that came from the distant glass cliffs.
Jilek had told him there was a natural spring under the oasis but that it was supplemented by water that came from the surrounding obsidian plains. Out there were deep fractures in the glass, the bottom of these never saw the sun, and remained much cooler than the surface. At night, warm desert air condensed on the cold glass and ran down through fissures and cracks. In the distant past the Tej-Ka-Jalfa had cut channels to bring this water to their oasis. Apparently, even at the height of the blistering summer months, their oasis always had water.
Atif followed the path down to the waterside, there was a strict protocol concerning which parts of the oasis were used for which purpose. Opposite, where the channel came from the cliffs, was where drinking water was drawn, south of that was an area where animals were brought to be watered; on his side washing and bathing and swimming took place. Then, to the south, the water flowed into several channels that led to the irrigation system for the crops and finally there was the outlet to the natural stream that meandered off through the land, until it disappeared somewhere under the southern cliffs.
It was early afternoon and quiet, just a few villagers were there, a group of women doing their washing, scrubbing their clothing and laying them on the rocks to dry, a couple of older men playing some kind of game, moving clay pieces on a board and a solitary Eralsu rider watering his mount.
The path led Atif to a flat area with several stone benches, he sat on one and pulled off his boots and socks, rolling up his baggy pant legs he walked over to the shore, moving rather quickly as the rocky ground was hot and dipped his feet in the water. It was cool and pleasant as his toes sunk into the mud a little.
He noticed a large squared-off rock nearby and paddled over to sit on it, his legs knee-deep in the water. He pulled the shemag off his shoulder, dipped it in the water and lopped it around his neck. The damp cloth was refreshing and he felt his earlier anxiety lift as it cooled and relaxed him.
He made himself comfortable and looked around. There was the usual buzz of insects, a couple of brilliant flashes darted around the surface, flittering to and fro, almost like some sort of Obsidian dragonfly. Another movement caught his eye as a beetle skuttled over the water, it’s feet not breaking the surface tension. There was more movement in a clump of rushes, a brightly colored lizard was swaying about on a thin stem as it flicked its tongue out at passing flies. It caught one and crunched down happily.
He continued to look around, his eyes following the shore, dotted around were several large rocks, like the one he sat on. Absently he counted them, there were eight, plus the one he was sat on, nine. He smiled to himself, of course, the Oasis of the Nine Stones
The one he sat on seemed to have been roughly worked, it was mostly squared off, perhaps half a meter wide on top, about the same deep, maybe two and a half meters long. To his left the end had been shaped, but on the right side it was much rougher, the stone almost broken or snapped off. It was a different color to the other rocks around, darker and with a more compact grain. He glanced at the nearest other stone, it was similar to this one, sort of rectangular, of the same rough dimensions, although perhaps longer, closer to three meters in length, but of the same color and makeup; instead of lying flat, it stuck up out of the water at an angle. The next two, to his left, were similar and likewise poked up out of the water at an angle.
Further away, on the north end, another two stones were together, emerging from an area of shrubbery, these were more upright, and both their tips had been cut on a slant. On the other side of the oasis were the final three stones. One was like the others, mostly rectangular; but the remaining pair were different, they had been worked into an arched shape and were the largest of the nine. They were also the furthest from the shore, in perhaps two meters of water and fully three meters of them rose above the surface, arching towards each other.
The stones were clearly not natural, their shape and position marked them as being worked and deliberately placed; perhaps they were the remains of some ancient structure that had once covered the oasis Atif mused. Maybe pillars for a long-gone roof covering, to help prevent evaporation of the precious water. He had seen similar structures over other oases on Obsidian, though not on lakes as large as this.
His mind moved on, settling on his favorite subject, his trading situation, The crystals the tribe had paid him would need careful thought. The plain black ones, he knew, were common enough, but the colored ones were of much greater value. He mentally ran though his various jewel buyers, considering which might offer him the highest price. He could certainly trade them off via his contacts at the Café Ra Hetjan but that would probably not yield the best return. He might have to visit Obsidian Command for a repair to his hatch, if so, that could be the best market for the crystals.
He spent an enjoyable couple of hours simply soaking in the peace and quiet of the oasis and mulling over his trades. As the afternoon drew on, he headed back to the ship to clean up, he had been invited to join Jelik and family for dinner and there had been a mention of something called the Song of the stars.
